


Until Dawn

by CasinoLights



Series: I Can Tell You Will Always Be Danger [2]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasinoLights/pseuds/CasinoLights
Summary: "When you wake, you feel around for Jacob and find only an empty bed. A distant grunt sounds and you’re slow to respond, still half-dreaming of a picnic in the Holland Valley. At the sight of repetitive movement outside, you glance through the window to see Jacob chopping wood in his flannel pants and little else."Jacob has nightmares, and you're still working on getting him to share them. Maybe he won't ever open up about them, but you won't rest until he knows that he can trust you. He doesn't have to do this alone, and you'll tell him over and over until he understands that.





	Until Dawn

When you wake, you feel around for Jacob and find only an empty bed. A distant grunt sounds and you’re slow to respond, still half-dreaming of a picnic in the Holland Valley. At the sight of repetitive movement outside, you glance through the window to see Jacob chopping wood in his flannel pants and little else.

At first, you flash a sleepy smirk - this is certainly a _wonderful_ way to wake up - but when it registers in your brain that the sun isn’t even above the horizon yet, you rub your eyes and sit up in bed.

“Jacob?”

With your lazy mumbling and sleep still thick in your voice, it’d be a miracle if he could hear you through the walls. Your eyes follow his hands as they grip the haft of the ax and bring it down hard against the wood on the chopping block, cleaving it in two with one strike. His fingers, calloused and strong, slip down the haft as he leaves the ax stuck in the stump he uses as a base while he stacks the newly chopped wood. He rakes his fingers back through his hair, arms falling down to his sides, and he sighs as he picks up another piece of wood.

You rise from the bed after untangling your legs from the sheets. Your fingers curl around the front door handle carefully, twisting it softly and pulling it slowly. Jacob has projects everywhere and the creaky doors are no exception. He putters, you like to say, with anything and everything he can get his hands on. The old cabin you share was his idea, a fixer-upper he could keep himself busy with as the two of you live out your days in peace and safety. It’s a dream you’ve turned into reality - not a dream for yourself, but a dream for Jacob, one you’d crafted lovingly the day you turned your back on him even as his laser sight burned red against your hair.

_(Thundering footsteps behind you as his rifle clatters to the ground, hands rough and painful on your arms as he spins you to face him, hot anger in his eyes sizzling steam when they meet the heartfelt tears in yours - he’s asking why, and you answer with the voice he cannot find as you say, “You deserve it, Jacob, you deserve to live—”)_

Your first step into the grass, cold and wet with early dew, sends a shiver through your skin, but you approach Jacob’s shadowed frame nonetheless. He brings his ax down onto another piece of firewood and splits it nearly all the way when the blade catches on a knot. He removes the ax, lets it fall to the ground, and all the muscles from his arms to his core tense and release as he tears the wood in two with his bare hands.

“Jacob?”

Your voice is soft and coarse with sleep, still heavy on your tongue, but hears you. When he looks at you, however, his expression falls.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” he responds gruffly. He still shuts you out, after everything you’ve been through, but this is not your Jacob. His face looks thin and shallow, and though it may only be a trick of the light, it haunts you all the same.

You reach for him as a shiver rattles your spine. Your feet are wet and covered with grass, your legs and arms are exposed to the chilly wind, and the sun isn’t out to heat your skin. So you gravitate toward his warmth, just as you would in bed, but he steps away and you grab at thin air.

“What’s wrong?”

His stare is as cold as you feel when he says, “Nothing. Go back inside.”

Against your better judgement, you stretch your arm out again. And once again, he brushes you away. “Go on. You need your rest.”

“So do you,” you insist, hands darting out for his.

He swats your hands down with a smack. “Just. Go.”

“Jacob—”

When you reach once more, he pushes you by the shoulder, hard enough that you stumble backward. He barks your name like a command, tells you he won’t repeat himself again, but he makes the mistake of a nearly-unnoticeable confession.

_I need to do this alone._

This time, your glare could stop time as you narrow your eyes and look up at him. “Jacob Seed, do not lay one more hand on me.”

Something sparks in his eyes - recognition, perhaps - as you reach out once again. This time, he offers his hands, and you kiss his scarred knuckles before looking up into his eyes.

“See?” Your thumb smooths over his skin. “You don’t need to face everything alone, honey. If you’d just tell me what’s wrong, we can do it together.”

He sighs quietly, eyes closing, and he nods gently. With a smile and a peck on the cheek, you lead him back inside. He stops in the kitchen and takes a bowl from the cupboard, filling it with water from the sink. He tests the temperature on the pad of his wrist, the least damaged skin on his arms, and he sets it on the floor.

“Sit,” he tells you, eyes directing you toward a chair. “There’s grass all over your feet.”

You look down at your bare toes and flash a sheepish smile. You haven’t tracked in much, thankfully, but you don’t want to get _that_ in bed.

As soon as you sit in the chair, Jacob kneels before you and dips your toes into the bowl on the floor. He cups his hands, fills his palms with water, and pours it over one of your feet before gently rubbing them clean of grass and dirt.

“What’s wrong?” you ask again, voice soft in the stark silence.

He doesn’t answer for a time as he stares down at your foot in his hands. He rises to his feet and fetches a clean dishtowel from a drawer, dries his hands, and sighs quietly before wrapping it around your wet foot.

“Dreams,” he answers finally. “It’s nothing.”

“You don’t have to do this alone, Jake.”

The nickname tastes sweet on your tongue and rings fondly in his ears. He looks up at you, then back at your feet, and begins to rinse the other one. “Just… dreams. You know how they are.”

He’s right. You do. “Are you okay?”

He pours the perfectly warm water over your foot and begins rubbing it. “Mhm.”

“Are you lying?”

He glances up again, this time with the flicker of a smile. “No. Promise.”

You settle your hand atop his head and lovingly stroke his hair. “Please stop pushing me away. I want to help you.”

“I know.”

“You can wake me up at night if you need to. I don’t mind.”

“I know.”

“I love you, Jacob. I do.”

He dries your foot and moves the bowl of water away. “…I know.” It sounds more strained this time, harder for him to say. But when he looks up at you, the love in his eyes speaks volumes that his voice can’t. His hands wrap around your knees, warm and firm on your bare skin, and there’s a hint of something hotter behind the affection in his gaze.

Your hand moves from the top of his head to the side of his face, cupping it softly, and you draw half circles on his cheek with the pad of your thumb.

“I love you,” you repeat, barely a whisper as his touch and his eyes warm you to the core. “I love you so much.”

He slowly pushes your knees apart and holds your gaze steadily, almost as if he’s asking permission. With a fond smile and a lick of your lips, you nod once, and his fingers curl around the waistband of your underwear.

With slow, shifting motions, Jacob pulls the fabric down to the floor. He brushes a strong thumb along your apex and you shiver at his touch and the cool air. You aren’t cold for long as he tenderly kisses his way up your leg, all the way from your calf to your inner thigh. As soon as his beard tickles your delicate skin, your back arches like lightning’s struck you. His breath is hot as he hovers between your thighs, and he flicks his eyes up to you, blown wide with desire - not _lust_ , but true, loving desire.

When his mouth connects with your skin, your eyes close of their own accord and your fingers curl into Jacob’s hair once more. You exhale shakily as he drags his tongue across you and kisses the corner of your thigh. His tongue, his lips - and after a moment, his fingers - work skillfully to undo the knot of pleasure he’s already tied so firmly in your core. He knows every inch of you and he demonstrates it here, kneeling before you, worshipping your body with soft sucking and languid licks that torture you oh-so-perfectly.

He works you into a fever, a leg-shaking climax that rocks through you like an earthquake and has you tugging at his hair and gripping the chair so hard your knuckles turn bone white. He continues to lick and suck, savoring every bit of you, until your moaning turns from nonsense to pure white noise, and he only lets you rest once the last waves of your already prolonged orgasm have shuddered through you.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice thick with ardor as he gently draws his beard up over your stomach. He kisses your chest, fingers toying with your nipples, until he’s reached your neck. Face buried in the sensitive space between your shoulder and your jaw, he rises to his feet and lifts you by the hips until your skin meets the countertop. He pulls one of your legs up over his shoulder and tugs down his pants, freeing his shaft and aligning it with your entrance, already slick from his attentive tongue.

“I love you,” he repeats before he pushes himself inside you, and you cry out as the feeling spreads from your core to your throat. You choke on your own gasps as Jacob slips into a slow, careful rhythm. With one hand cradling the base of your skull and the other at the small of your back, he pulls you tightly against his body, chest to chest, and he presses his lips to your pulse as he breathes you in.

Each thrust is met with a kiss or a graze of his teeth, lips bruising your neck as he rocks in and out of you with a patience only he can manage. That thick, heady sensation is building in your core again and you tighten around his girth. You nearly ache from the fit, but it’s a sticky-sweet pain you can’t get enough of as he reaches that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. When the hand that once held your back comes down to touch you, the molten waves of pleasure wash over you once more and you shudder as you come undone in his hands. His name is on your lips, once, twice, three times, and he spills himself inside you with a soft groan.

You rest your head on his strong shoulder as his remains pressed to your neck, and the two of you remain entwined as you catch your breath. When Jacob finally removes himself from you, he takes in the sight of you, skin flushed and lovingly bruised. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, and though you taste yourself on his tongue, there’s nothing sweeter than his lips on yours.

Neither of you has to say it. You can tell from the look in his eyes, and he from yours. He cleans you with the damp dishcloth, now pleasantly cool against your hot skin, and he strokes your hair as he helps you off the counter.

“Can you stand?” he asks, hands bracing you upright. “Was that alright?”

Your trembling legs leave you uncertain if you can stand on your own, but the second answer is all but assured. “It was — _you_ were wonderful, Jake.”

He sweeps you up into his arms with a soft huff of effort, and he carries you to bed with a smile that looks very nearly peaceful. He tucks you in and settles down beside you, arms drawing you close to his chest.

You fall asleep just as the sun rises, mind eased by the steady beating of his heart. He doesn’t wake you, doesn’t dare - he keeps still and silent, ever your stoic watchman.

Though you don’t mind when he shifts to kiss your forehead every now and then.


End file.
